Circumstantial Evidence
by robot iconography
Summary: FINISHED! "She could be damnably silly at times; she dressed like a spinster and carried herself like bloody royalty; but she was my baby sister, the only one I'd ever have. I'd been through hell to get her back, and now I was going to lose her anyway."
1. Default Chapter

_**Circumstantial Evidence**_

  


_The family is one of nature's masterpieces. _

-- George Santayana

  


1.

  


Now, I won't go into grand detail about the reasons for my spending the night in military jail. Suffice it to say that an officer lost a pocket-watch in the casbah and that it was found on my person. That, as any barrister worth his salt will tell you, is what is commonly known as circumstantial evidence.

  


In point of fact, I did not steal the officer's pocket-watch. I didn't care tuppence for the sodding thing, it was a cheap bit of second-rate work and I was ashamed to have it found on my person. I was holding onto it for a chap of my acquaintance, who was supposed to pop round and retrieve it. Instead, however, the officer in question and his cronies popped round and retrieved me from the bar.

  


I don't know why they put me in military jail. I'm not even sure if the blighters are allowed to do that sort of thing to civilians, especially moderately wealthy civilians from good families. But as there were four of them, and they were dirty great burly fellows, I did as I was told and avoided asking any questions that might warrant physical violence. I'm not much of a hand at fisticuffs. I believe in calm, rational discussion. Which is why, when Evie came to collect me, I was calmly and rationally banging on the bars with a tin plate and screaming to be set free.

  


"Jonathan!!" she yelled, hands over her ears.

  


I ceased both banging and screaming and thrust my arms through the bars as far as they would go. "Sis!"

  


She made a funny, sour face, deliberately steering clear of my waving arms. Then she placed hands on hips, assuming the lecture position. "Picking an officer's pocket, Jonathan?"

  


My sister, unfortunately, was born with a hereditary congenital defect that I happened to have escaped. She had a conscience. Dashed inconvenient at times. But I couldn't help but love the pesky little creature--especially at times like these, when she was there to look out for me, as I'd always looked out for her.

  


"I'm innocent, I tell you."

  


Evie made a rude noise.

  


"But I _am_, old mum! I was keeping the watch for a friend. I'd no idea it was stolen, Evie, I swear." That much was true. When a friend asks me to keep something, I never ask from whence it came. That can get awfully sticky.

  


Evie sighed, and shook her head. Before she really could start in on me, however, a stone-faced young man, with the most admirable set of mustaches I'd ever seen in my life, came in and unlocked the door to my cell.

  


My first act, on becoming a free man, was to embrace my deliverer. Evie was, no doubt, less than thrilled to be embraced by a chap who'd spent the night in a military jail, but she endured it with customary fortitude. I tucked her arm securely in mine and we exited proudly. Well, I was proud. I felt I'd been vindicated. I've no doubt that Evie would have been embarrassed, had this been the first time. As it was, she seemed resigned, but still mildly irritated.

  


"You're very lucky," she told me as we strolled along the streets, luxuriating in the morning air. "They were going to hold you longer, but Rick had a little talk with them."

  


"Aha." My sister's boy-friend, one Richard O'Connell, was a rather large American fellow, and not renowned for his diplomacy. I had no doubt that his 'little talk' involved very few actual words. "Well, name the place, and I'll meet him there an hour and buy him a drink."

  


"Jon, it's ten-thirty in the morning," she said mildly.

  


"Well, I'm glad someone's aware of the time, since I no longer have a watch..." This earned me a swat to the back of the head with the book she was carrying. Either the book or the smack seemed to jog my memory, and I exclaimed, "I say, Evie, aren't you supposed to be at the museum?" Personally, I can't understand why women decided they wanted to work for a living. If I were a woman, I'd have been perfectly satisfied to be kept. I don't think I'd be averse to that in any case.

  


She huffed impatiently. "I couldn't very well leave you in jail all day, now could I? Look, I've left a note telling Dr. Stuart that you were ill and I went to check on you. So, if anyone asks, you were very, very sick last night."

  


I nodded. Unlike Dr. Bey, with whom I'd had some rather unsavory dealings, the new curator knew very little about our happy family and would probably believe that load of bollocks.

  


"I don't want you going anywhere for a drink until at least noon," she continued. You'd think she were the elder sibling and not I. "You're looking rather seedy, Jon--even more so than usual. Go back to your rooms, have a bath, take a nap..."

  


"Yes, yes yes. Quite."

  


"I mean it!"

  


"Fine, Evie. No going out for a drink before noon. I promise." Which didn't rule out the decanter on my sitting room table.

  


"Thank you." She gave my arm a squeeze. Evie never could stay cross with me for long. I once gave every one of her dolls crew cuts, and not fifteen minutes later she was practically begging me to take her along when I went to play cricket with my chums. Today she seemed particularly buoyant. "I want you to be rested for tonight."

  


"Why, what's happening tonight?" How drunk had I really been yesterday?

  


"You're taking me out for drinks."

  


"Am I, now?" Evie never went anywhere 'for drinks'. I hadn't been aware the expression was even in her vocabulary. Apparently O'Connell was a better influence on her than I'd suspected.

  


"Yes. It's all been arranged." She grinned at me. Cheeky brat. She expected me to simply drop everything because she commanded that it be so. For a supposedly modern woman, my sister had some very antiquated notions when it suited her. "We'll go someplace nice, with music. And dancing. You can dress up. We'll order martinis and pretend to be wealthy sophisticates. It'll do you good."

  


"Evie, how do you know I don't have plans for the evening?"

  


"You've never planned for anything in your life," she replied. "Plotted, perhaps. Not planned."

  


"Look here, what about O'Connell? Get him to take you dancing," I snapped.

  


"I've been out with him every night this week." She didn't say it in a regretful tone; she was simply stating a fact. One that I happened to have already been aware of.

  


"Yes." As dear old Dad always said, if you can't say anything nice, then just keep your silly trap shut.

  


"I miss my favourite dance partner."

  


Until recently, her only dance partner. My sister may be a bit of a looker when she's cleaned herself up, granted, but get her on a dance floor and she's a holy terror in pointy shoes. She stomps on a chap's feet like you wouldn't believe. I'd learned to avoid the tread of lead, through years of practice trotting her about at various social functions (after all, I was never going to be able to fob her off on some unlucky fellow if she wouldn't even look up from her book whenever we went to parties). No man, besides myself, had ever asked her for a dance more than once. Evie, being Evie, assumed this was because she wasn't as pretty as the other girls. Not the case. But not even the most ardent admirer relishes having his toes broken.

  


I didn't reply. She watched me, face fixed in mute appeal. I didn't see how I could possibly turn her down.

  


"Besides, Rick won't dance with me. He hates it."

  


_That_ made it easier. "I see."

  


She sighed. "Don't be petty, Jonathan."

  


"I'm not being anything," I shot back. "I'm just knackered, that's all. I did spend the night in jail, you know."

  


I could tell that she wanted very badly to believe me. Evie is a person with such intense and concentrated strength of will that it often overcomes her better judgement. It did so in this case.

  


"You don't drink martinis, anyhow," I added.

  


She smiled. "You can have mine."

  


Now that was more like it. I offered her my hand to shake. "It's a deal."

  


She grasped my hand firmly, and we parted at the corner of the road without another word. I watched her walk away. I hated to admit it, even to myself, but I missed her. She could be damnably silly at times; she dressed like a spinster and carried herself like bloody royalty; but she was my baby sister, the only one I'd ever have. I'd been through hell to get her back, and now I was going to lose her anyway.

  


To O'Connell, of all people.

  


Oh, I knew she was a bit infatuated with him at the beginning. Evie very rarely professes to dislike someone that much, so I knew something was up when she kept going on about how horrid he was. What surprised me, more than anything, was the way he took to her. The man was a pugnacious bruiser--six feet of walking, talking muscle--but Evelyn seemed to bring out a softer side of him. When I watched him try to talk to her, there were moments when I nearly split my sides trying to keep from laughing. It was obvious that the poor chap knew very little about nice girls, and even less concerning how they expected to be treated.

  


But rather than simply dismissing him, Evie showed surprising patience. If _I_ had stolen Burns' toolkit, she'd have given me a sound dressing-down and demanded that I put it back. When O'Connell did it, all she did was titter to herself, and gaze after him with a sort of quiet longing I'd never seen on her face before. Longing mingled with something else, something I knew well: determination.

  


Well, at the ripe old age of twenty-four, I supposed it was about time she got her nose out of a book and took notice of the opposite sex. They certainly took notice of her; more than once, I'd had to threaten a chum of mine with bodily harm if he so much as breathed the same air as Evie. You see, I choose my companions because we have traits in common, and I will say quite candidly that the last thing I want is to see someone like me trying to make time with my dear sweet little sister. Because I know myself. She deserves better than that.

  


But _O'Connell_?

  


I couldn't see it. It was one thing to lose your head over someone in the middle of the desert, after narrowly escaping death; that, I could understand. But when we got back to Cairo, and divvied up the treasure--well, frankly, I expected O'Connell to be gone within the week. I knew his type, and they weren't the stationary sort. I didn't say anything to Evie about this; I simply waited, certain that the day would soon come when she'd turn up on my doorstep, all tears and sniffles, bleating about how O'Connell had buggered off to Delhi or Shanghai or what have you. But the blighter stayed, and what was more, he persisted. He showed up at her door with flowers and chocolates. He took her to dinner, and accompanied her on her frenzied sprees through the shops and stalls of the marketplace. He convinced her to play hooky from work and go gallivanting off, heaven only knew where--Evie, my Evie, the girl who, as a child, had wept soulfully whenever illness forced her to miss a day of school!

  


One morning, she turned up to a breakfast appointment with a finely crafted circlet of gold and emeralds dangling from her slim wrist. Jewellery is something I know a good deal about, if I do say so myself; I know enough, at least, to spot quality when I see it. I didn't know where O'Connell had found the bracelet, or how, but there was no doubt in my mind that he had either murdered someone for it, or paid a small fortune. Moreover, emeralds are Evie's birthstone, a detail which definitely augured unexpected forethought on his part. Either that, or sheer blind luck.

  


The days became weeks, and the weeks stretched on into months, and he was still underfoot. Evie began to see him more and more frequently--which resulted in my seeing less and less of her. And then, I hit upon a horrible realization: perhaps he _wasn't_ going to leave. Perhaps his intentions towards my sister were entirely honourable.

  


Now, I'd known for a long time that this was coming; I didn't expect Evie to stay single forever, just to keep me company. But knowing a thing and accepting it when it actually comes to pass are different beasts entirely.

  


I stood at that corner, staring blankly off into the distance and being jostled by passers-by, until I saw her disappear into the museum. She didn't look back, even once.

  



	2. Part Two

2.

  


I kept my promise, and didn't go out for a drink until noon. I took a bath, got my dress clothes out of mothballs, and polished off what was left in the decanter, then applied myself to a leisurely gin and tonic--or several--at the local establishment. By just after two, I was pleasantly awash in general good feeling. Now would be the ideal time, I reasoned, to put a little scare into Evie. She'd earned it, partly by ignoring me so much lately, but predominantly by being my sister and an abominable little pest to boot.

  


I snuck into the museum through the delivery entrance, bypassing the sleeping guard, and made my way to where I knew Evie would be. The layout of the museum library had changed somewhat since I'd been there last. This was, of course, due to the fact that my fumblethumbs of a sister had somehow managed to topple everything standing. It now all had to be completely re-organized, a job that would probably occupy her for the next fifty years or so.

  


I could hear her over in the corner, near the card catalogue, chattering to herself as usual. The girl never stopped talking, even when there was no one to listen. When she was a child, she used to assemble all her dolls for marathon tea parties. She held court for hours, the most gregarious hostess since Marie-Antoinette. When that wasn't enough, she'd trail around after me, blabbering on about heaven only knew what. I certainly never stopped to inquire; it wasn't until she got older that I started to find her even remotely interesting. Still, the fact remains that her constant prattle was the background noise of my formative years. I'd know it anywhere.

  


Following the low murmur of her voice, I crept along, pausing here and there to shuffle a book, scrape my foot along the floor, or make some other suitably eerie noise. I suppose I was a bit of a prat, sneaking up on her to scare her after all she'd been through. But I'm a big brother, after all; it's what we do.

  


Just as I was about to jump out from behind the shelf, though, I very nearly got the shock of _my_ life when a rumbling baritone issued from the other side. Well. Apparently Evie wasn't simply chattering to the stacks after all.

  


When my sister began to speak again, I caught only the end of the sentence--but I wasn't particularly keen on hearing the beginning anyhow, since it sounded rather sick-making.

  


"...._so_ glad you came, darling."

  


Bloody O'Connell.

  


"But I really ought to be working," she continued. "I've simply got to finish this, and I lost enough time getting Jonathan out of jail."

  


"I bet it wasn't the first time."

  


"No." Why, the little traitor! It was only the second time I'd ever had her come and fetch me. In Egypt, anyhow. "Thank you for your help."

  


"Don't mention it."

  


For once, I agreed with O'Connell, and wished she'd let the matter drop. There was an interval of silence, punctuated by the rustle of clothing, and I decided the best thing for it was for me to make a leisurely exit while they were occupied. I was in the very act of slipping sneakily away, when I heard my own name being mentioned. Well, eavesdropping in the spirit of self-interest is a horse of a different colour!

  


"So did you tell Jonathan about the, uh..." Now why, I ask you, would my intelligent and oh-so-literate sister want to disport herself with a man who had trouble completing a simple sentence? He wasn't even rich--no richer than either of us, at any rate.

  


"Not yet," Evie replied. "I was going to talk to him tonight. I decided that he ought to take me dancing." Why, the little minx.

  


"Hey, he's braver than I thought he--ouch!"

  


Good for her, I thought, hoping she'd kicked him. Or pinched him--Evie's a great one for pinching, especially with those sharp little nails of hers.

  


"Serves you right," she informed him. "And I'll do it again if you aren't nicer to me."

  


"Oh, yeah?"

  


"Yeeeah," she replied, imitating his American drawl.

  


Another interval followed, briefer than the first--fortunately for all concerned. Well, all right, perhaps just fortunately for me.

  


"You think he'll be mad?" Rick asked. My ears perked up at this. What could they have done that I might have cause to be angry about? I wondered if she'd been letting O'Connell drive my car. I'd specifically forbidden it after that whole nasty business with the zombie slave chappies--the man had a lead foot to rival my sister's. Only he used it for driving instead of dancing.

  


"I think he might be disappointed that I hadn't told him sooner, but I don't think he'll be cross," Evie was saying.

  


Well, that was a relief, at least.

  


"At least, I hope not."

  


Oh, bloody hell, what had she done now?

  


She laughed suddenly. "Oh, listen to me, getting worked up over nothing!" she said. "Jonathan isn't going to disown me just because I did something impulsive. He'll just have to accept that I'm a grown woman now, and have the right to make my own decisions without asking his approval first."

  


"You could always bribe him," O'Connell suggested. Well, now, this was getting interesting.

  


"With what?" inquired Evie, sounding puzzled.

  


"Promise him you'll name the baby after him."

  


Baby?

  


"Even if it's a girl," he added, snickering.

  


_Baby?!_

  


"Rick, you're horrible!" I heard her giving him a good sound smack with a heavy book--as well he deserved, talking like that to my sister! The next words out of her mouth, however, compounded my shock. "Besides, I've already picked out the names."

  


"Yeah?"

  


"Of course. Amelia for a girl, Alexander for a boy."

  


"Don't I get a say in this?"

  


"Look, don't let's get off-track. The sooner I tell Jonathan, the better I'll feel about the whole thing," Evie told him. "Oh, Rick, it's such a mess--I'm being driven to distraction!"

  


She wasn't the only one, either!

  


"What was that noise?" O'Connell demanded. The noise in question was actually my head coming into rather painful contact with the shelf behind me. I hoped he wouldn't decide to investigate; I very much doubted I'd be able to make an effectual escape before I was spotted, as I'd temporarily lost control of my limbs and joints at the first mention of the word _baby_.

  


"I'm sure it wasn't anything. We've got rather a bad rat problem back here."

  


"They don't bother you?"

  


"Oh, not much," she said airily. And butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, either, I supposed. Teasingly, she added, "Don't worry, Rick, I'll protect you. Just hang on to me as tightly as you can, darling."

  


Eugh. If I listened to this insipid nonsense too much longer I'd get a cavity.

  


"Maybe I should be there tonight," O'Connell suggested.

  


"I think it would be better if you weren't. He might blame you."

  


Too right I would blame him! I considered climbing up to the top shelf and dropping a particularly heavy biography of Champollion on the blighter's head. However, wonky limbs entirely aside, I didn't want to risk harming the expectant mother.

  


"Well, I did kinda talk you into it."

  


"Don't be silly... I _wanted_ you to talk me into it. If you hadn't suggested it, I just might have."

  


Good heavens. O'Connell had taken advantage of my sister, got her into trouble, showed no signs of wanting to do the honourable thing--and he had her thinking it was entirely her idea!

  


"It's been hard, though--keeping it from Jonathan, I mean. I suppose... I suppose I thought he would somehow be able to tell," she reflected. "The moment he saw me. I was certain he'd look right at me and just... know."

  


"Well, you do have this whole radiant glowy thing going on..."

  


Good lord.

  


"You've already got me where you wanted me, Mister O'Connell," she said playfully. "There's no need for sweet words at this stage of the game."

  


"Good point."

  


Yes, my sentiments exactly.

  


She swatted him with the book again. "Now, just you go back out the way you came in, before we get caught canoodling in the back of the stacks like a couple of naughty schoolchildren."

  


"Canoodling?" O'Connell echoed dubiously.

  


"If you're hoping for a demonstration, you're out of luck. I have work to do." Then, of course, she gave him the demonstration.

  


"I'll see you tonight?" he inquired. "After you talk to Jonathan?"

  


"Of course."

  


"And you'll stay the whole night this time?"

  


"Of course," she repeated, and I could hear the smile in her voice. Well, if nothing else... at least the bastard made her smile. (Meaning O'Connell, of course, not the, er, you know.)

  


"Amelia for a girl..." mused O'Connell.

  


"And Alexander for a boy," finished my sister triumphantly. "Now, go on--get out of here!"

  


I waited until long after he'd left before sneaking out of the library via the same entrance I'd crept into. I walked along the street, not quite certain where I was headed--not certain of anything at all, really. My head was reeling, and it wasn't the gin and tonics. My sister was going to have a child! An illegitimate, half-American child! And she didn't seem the slightest bit concerned about the whole business! I couldn't understand it. Evie had always been my own personal moral thermometer: I could easily gauge the dastardliness of whatever I happened to be doing, by picturing what my sister's reaction would be. It was a system that had worked surprisingly well before bloody O'Connell showed up and started mucking about with our simple little lives. I felt as though I didn't even know Evie anymore.

  


It occurred to me then that this might be my fault. Oh, I wasn't willing to overlook that blighter O'Connell's role in all this, believe you me; but I couldn't help thinking that, perhaps, if I'd been a better role model for my sister... if she hadn't constantly had to dirty her hands by contact with the kind of shady life I led... it might not have come to this. My own attitudes towards women probably hadn't helped matters, either. I'd never left a girl in the family way, that I knew of, but that certainly didn't make me a saint. I'd never tried to hide my habits from Evie; more often than not, I delighted in saying things I knew would rock her moral boat a bit. But that didn't mean I wanted to see her go overboard...

  


I came to a sudden, unpleasant realization: every girl I'd thrown over for another--or bought drinks for to increase her suggestibility--or lied to in order to get her into bed--or gone to bed with when I didn't care a rap for her--was, in all likelihood, someone's sister.

  


Well, I thought, damn it all, _someone_ ought to be honourable in this whole business. The fact that it was going to be me just proved what a very sorry state of affairs this was.

  


I turned around and began walking in the other direction, my footsteps no longer aimless. I would see if O'Connell was at home; if he was, then he and I were going to have a little chat.

  



	3. Part Three

3.

  


Now, in retrospect, antagonizing a young man with enough sheer brute strength to juggle me and two of my mates was probably not the best idea I've ever had. But you have to understand, I was really quite angry. And the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Who did he think he was, going around getting people's sisters in the family way and then treating it as if it were all some sort of joke? Was Evie the first girl he'd done this to, or simply the latest of a lengthy series?

  


He wasn't in his flat when I arrived, and the door wasn't locked in any serious way. I questioned the man's ability to protect my sister when he couldn't even protect his own possessions from any idiot with a hairpin and five minutes to spare. Not that I'm just any idiot, mind you... but still.

  


After searching about in vain for some liquid fortification other than an unmarked bottle of the local rotgut (vile stuff, that), I took up a seat in the front room, on the piece of furniture that looked least likely to be flea-ridden. The miserable little room was relatively clean, at least; then again, I reflected, he didn't have much time to occupy it, since he spent approximately twenty-three hours of the day leading my sister down the primrose path. 

  


I decided to have a cigarette--one of my more respectable vices. I never smoke around Evie; she finds it to be a disgusting habit, and indulges in a lot of pointed coughing whenever anyone around us is having a puff. Besides, she's a lady, and my father always taught me that one never smokes in the presence of the fairer sex. (Never mind that these days almost every one of them has a cigarette dangling from her lovely lips.) I made sure to get as much ash as possible all over everything. In some cases, it only improved the look of the furnishings by which I was surrounded.

  


He returned before very long. I half-hoped he'd have a girl with him, so that I could be presented with undeniable proof that he was a bounder before I made the accusations that were liable to get me killed. But no, he was alone, and looking rather self-satisfied.

  


"O'Connell!" I barked.

  


He didn't seem terribly surprised to see me; then again, the man didn't exactly have a great variety of facial expression. He might actually have been quite shocked. But if that were the case, his shocked face and his bored face bore remarkable similarities to one another.

  


"Hey, Jonathan. Saw your car outside."

  


Well, there was that. All right, so I'm better at breaking and entering than I am at bloody espionage. I'm an amateur archaeologist, for heaven's sake...

  


"Put something under that, would ya?" He gestured to the cigarette.

  


I brought my foot up to rest on my knee, and ground the stub of my cigarette out on the sole of my shoe. I suppose, if I'd been graced with a bit more machismo and a bit less common sense, I'd have done it on my fingertip or in my mouth or some such nonsense. That was a trick I'd tried only once, after copious amounts of vodka and a good deal of egging on by some companions who weren't, I suspect, particularly concerned for my health and well-being. It was one occasion upon which my sister, the would-be Florence Nightingale of our generation, was required to bandage my tongue. (The other occasions are best not inquired after, I believe.) Anyhow, once burnt, twice shy, to coin a phrase. I would certainly not be attempting that maneuver in the foreseeable future, no matter how tough I wanted to look in front of O'Connell.

  


O'Connell, for his part, simply grumbled, "Just make yourself at home, why dontcha... I'm surprised you didn't help yourself to a drink while you were waiting."

  


"You haven't got anything worth drinking," I informed him.

  


He shrugged and slumped into the chair opposite me. "What's up?"

  


"What's up? I'll tell you what's bloody well _up_! I'm here to ensure that you do what's right and honourable, or else..." My throat dried up, but I pressed on in a whisper. "Or else I'm going to see to it that you get a--a thrashing. Yes, yes, a good, sound thrashing!" Note that I did not state or otherwise imply that _I_ would be providing the thrashing. There are limits, even to the delusions of grandeur of which I am capable.

  


He made a derisive noise. "Jeez. Have another drink, Jonathan. Build up those beer muscles." He grinned, and slapped my knee in a jocular fashion. I tried not to let on how much it hurt.

  


"Look here, I know what you've done, all right? Don't bother trying to deny it."

  


"Yeah, yeah, sure." He stood up, shaking his head. "Go home and take a nap. You smell like a brewery. Evelyn's expecting you to take her out tonight, and I think you might wanna be sober for that. She's got something she wants to tell you."

  


"I already know all about your little secret, thank you very much."

  


Aha, so he was capable of a shocked face after all. He sank back down into the chair, eyeing me warily. "'Scuse me?"

  


"I overheard everything you two said in the library." Well, there went the ace in my sleeve.

  


"You were eavesdropping on us?" He spoke very softly, but I knew it was the calm that comes before the storm.

  


"Too right, I was eavesdropping!" I decided I may as well just lay all the rest of the cards down, too. "What I want to know is, what are your intentions?"

  


"My... my intentions?" He shifted in his seat, placing his elbows on his knees and rubbing his face with both hands. When he looked up again, he still seemed completely clueless. "What intentions?"

  


"Your intentions towards Evie!"

  


"Well," he began thoughtfully, "I think my... intentions... should be pretty clear."

  


"Well, they aren't!" I shouted.

  


"They aren't?"

  


"No!"

  


"No?"

  


"Damn it, man, stop repeating every bloody word I say and tell me what the hell you intend to do about this!"

  


"About _what_?!" He was starting to get worked up now. I could see his hands folding into fists, each the size of a good-sized ham, preparatory to smashing me half-way into next week. "What the hell are you _talking_ about?!"

  


"About my sister's _condition_, you daft bugger!" I cried, leaping out of my seat. "The current state of affairs is intolerable, and you can't expect me to just--just look the other way!" I readied my own fists for action. You wouldn't think it to look at me, but I was quite the wily little boxer in my prep school days. I may not have had the strength behind me to do much serious damage, but I could dodge a punch like nobody's business, and I was quite good at tripping a chap up with my feet and then running away while he was getting up...

  


Without even standing, O'Connell reached over and shoved me back down. "Look," he said, "I don't know what kinda bug you got up your ass, okay? I know to you it probably looks like I rushed her into it... but it was what we both wanted."

  


I made a noise, to the effect that this was total bollocks.

  


"You can even ask your sister if you don't believe me. She was just as gung ho as I was--she wasn't even nervous."

  


Which was information I could just as soon have done without, thank you very much.

  


"Anyway, it's not exactly something I can take back!" He shot me a defiant glare. "And you know what? I wouldn't. I don't give a damn what you think, or what anyone else thinks. She was worth it."

  


"How dare you, you--!" I jumped up again, and O'Connell swatted me as though I were a fly. I landed hard and was rendered momentarily speechless, winded by the impact.

  


"You know, I was hoping you weren't gonna be a little jerk when you found out," he sighed. "In fact--call me a sentimental sucker--but I honestly thought you'd be okay with this. I figured you'd be able to look past the particulars, and just be glad that your sister is happy. I mean, it's not like I won't take good care of her." Lowering his voice, as if he were imparting some great secret, he added, "I'm crazy about her. You know that. She's the best thing that ever happened to me. I'd do anything for her."

  


"Are you going to marry her?" I demanded.

  


Now _that_ threw him for a loop. "What? I--_what_?!"

  


"It's a very simple question, O'Connell. Are you going to do the honourable thing and marry the mother of your child?"

  


For a moment, he merely gaped at me. Then, he seemed to hit upon some realization. It was probably the only time in his life he'd ever had two thoughts to rub together, I thought bitterly, glowering at him. And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, he began to laugh.

  


"What's your game?" I demanded, rising for a third time. He raised his arm, but seemed to decide it wasn't worth the effort of knocking me down. Either that, or the laughing had sapped his strength. "I don't see anything funny about this!" I continued. "That child needs a mother and a father, and you're the one who got her into this whole sodding mess! If you care about Evie as much as you say you do, then damn it, man, put your money where your mouth is!"

  


"Jonathan..." He shook his head, unruly fringe tumbling into his eyes. I was completely exasperated. Why couldn't the man get a haircut? And a job? And the hell away from my sister? "Go home!" he repeated, more emphatically, smirking up at me. "Evie's gonna explain everything tonight. Do me a favour, would ya, and let her talk first?"

  


"I'm not doing you any bloody favours," I muttered sullenly. "You're no friend of mine, O'Connell--in fact, you're a nasty bastard, and for tuppence, I'd..."

  


He stood and folded his arms, looking down at me from the pinnacle of a mountain of solid muscle. "You'd what?" he asked, quite cordially.

  


"I'd, ah... I-I'd go home," I stammered, and eased past him to the door. "This isn't over!" I called from the doorway, then fled into the street before he had time to react. Well, getting myself mashed to a pulp wasn't going to help Evie's situation, I reasoned. There was no point in pushing my luck. I decided that, in the interests of peace, I would do as he'd suggested, and let her explain matters before I reacted. Then, if I didn't like the scenario as presented--which I undoubtedly wouldn't--I'd come back and talk to him again, even though it would probably result in my getting my nose broken. Let it never be said that Jonathan Carnahan isn't willing to give a person the benefit of the doubt.

  


Besides, doesn't the Good Book say, blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth?

  


  



	4. Part Four

  


4.

  


Evie and I agreed to meet for cocktails at The Palm Frond, an expensive little club that catered mostly to small, fat men with large, fat wallets. I'd been thrown out of the place rather unceremoniously a couple of years ago for the cardinal sin of impersonating a wealthy man, then placing a few friendly wagers with the genuinely wealthy patrons--and making a killing in the process. Of course, now that I was sufficiently well-heeled to patronize the club, I rarely did; but occasionally, if I happened to be feeling perverse, I found it fun to show my face there, knowing there wasn't a damn thing they could do to me as long as I backed all my bets. The drinks were good, the music was better, and the girls were mostly good-looking and occasionally quite stunning.

  


I installed myself on a high seat by the bar and ordered a gin martini. I watched the door for Evie, but the only women I'd seen so far were a pair of elderly ladies dripping with diamonds, and a young girl in a slinky black dress and long satin gloves. Upon closer inspection, however, the latter object did in fact prove to be my beloved sister. I'd never seen her dress like that in her life; what was more, she seemed to be enjoying it immensely. She'd pinned her hair in some elaborate style, held together by a modest circlet of gold and lapis lazuli. Everyone would, of course, assume that this object was faux ancient Egyptian--and hence very fashionable--when in fact it was the genuine article: one of the Hamunaptra treasures she'd taken a particular fancy to. However, her hair being up meant that everyone was afforded a fine view of her back as she turned to hand in her wrap at the coat check. I resisted the urge to run over and cover her with my dinner jacket. She was showing more skin than I'd seen since she was about three, and used to strip off and run about in the garden pretending she was an Amazon. I couldn't help wondering whether our parents' permissiveness in those days hadn't somehow influenced her current behaviour.

  


Every man between the ages of nineteen and ninety turned to watch as Evie walked across the room to where I was seated. She was in blatant defiance of the current female fashion, which dictated that a woman must have the figure of a ten-year-old boy in order to be thought attractive--but even so, I saw at least three fellows grab the nearest waiter and point to her, probably either inquiring after her identity or arranging to send her a drink. She waved and called my name, and immediately all of those male heads swivelled collectively in my direction, glaring enviously.

  


She sat right down beside me at the bar and ordered a gin martini of her own--which the bartender informed her was already paid for. Between the drink, the fancy hair, the posh evening gown, and the gloves, she looked quite sophisticated. All she needed to complete the ensemble was one of those long cigarette holders. Little Evie, all grown up.

  


"Aren't you going to tell me I look nice?" she inquired.

  


I frowned at her. "Why the devil should I? No doubt you're well aware of the fact. If you're expecting me to make a fuss of you just because you've thrown your money away on a silly piece of haute couture you'll never wear again, I think you must have done your hair up too tight." I gave her a ear a tweak.

  


She poked her tongue out at me. "How is it any different from throwing money away on card games--or blondes?"

  


"Blondes are always in fashion." I grinned salaciously.

  


The bartender placed the drink in front of her. She took a tiny sip, made a face like she'd just taken a dose of some particularly nasty medicine, and then set the glass down on the bar. And this--this _child_--was going to be someone's mother. It boggled the mind, really.

  


"Evie, old thing, are you sure you ought...?" I pantomimed taking a swig. After all, she was in a delicate condition--though you'd never think it to look at her. An evening of drinking and dancing and wearing tight clothing was probably the last thing she needed at this point. She ought to have been at home in her warm flannel nightgown, with her feet up, drinking tea and being tended to by O'Connell.

  


She beamed at me. "Oh, I know I shouldn't, but I'm celebrating tonight." 

  


"What are you celebrating?"

  


"The beginning of something new and wonderful."

  


"Well, I'll drink to that." I drained my glass in two swallows. Evie slid hers over to me; it was immediately replaced by another, which was apparently also paid for. I began to think that perhaps she did have her head on straight, dressing like that; she wouldn't have to buy a single drink all night. And she wouldn't drink them, which meant _I_ wouldn't have to buy a single drink all night.

  


She smiled, and then her face became solemn. "Now, Jon," she began, placing her hand over mine, "I'm about to tell you something very important. And you mustn't be upset."

  


"You are my darling baby sister, and I will always love you," I replied sententiously, the gin loosening my tongue.

  


She gave my hand a squeeze. "That's lovely."

  


"No matter what awful thing you may have done," I added.

  


"It isn't _that_ awful... a small thing, really." She bit her lip, and refused to look me in the eye, two sure signs that she was lying. Evie is a terrible liar at the best of times, and just now she was particularly dismal at it.

  


"All right. Out with it." I braced myself, knowing that any moment, my sister was going to let loose with the announcement that she'd become a breeding ground for little illegitimate O'Connells.

  


"Well..." she fiddled with her own fingers a moment, then slowly drew off her gloves. She placed both hands on the bar and sat watching me expectantly.

  


"Evie--" I was suddenly distracted as a gem winked at me from her hand. "Now _this_," I breathed, leaning in to get a closer look, "is a beautiful little piece. I'm glad to see you haven't gone all modern and art deco on me, sis."

  


She laughed--a funny, high-up sort of laugh. "Never," she told me.

  


It was a gold half-hoop ring, Victorian, with intricately carved shoulders and a three-stone setting. I wished I had my jeweller's eyepiece with me, in order to better appreciate it. I didn't have to ask who had given it to her; there were only two men in her life who had ever bought her jewellery of that calibre, and I happened to be one of them. Of course, she never wore the signet _I_ bought her, claiming rings weren't her style.

  


"I'll say this for O'Connell, at least he's got a modicum of good taste when it comes to the trinkets he buys you." Now if only he'd exercised the same good taste in other matters, I thought.

  


"Actually, I picked it out myself," she informed me proudly, wiggling her ring finger so that the setting caught the light and twinkled.

  


"Well, you--" The ring was on her _left_ hand, I realized belatedly. "I say, Evie!"

  


"Yes, Jonathan?"

  


"You--did you--you didn't..." Clarity broke over me like a thundershower, as my sister blushed and nodded. "You _did_, you balmy girl!" She wasn't going to be a mother, after all... but _this_ was almost as bad. Sure, I'd wanted him to marry her, but that was when I thought he'd got her into trouble! This was different--this was sneaking around behind my back and stealing my little sister away! "Bloody O'Connell!" I cried.

  


"Be nice, Jon--I'm _Mrs._ Bloody O'Connell, now, remember." She held up her hand, turning it this way and that, admiring the ring from different angles. "Besides, it wasn't all Rick's idea. I do have a mind of my own, you know."

  


For the second time that day, I was completely stunned. "You could have invited me..."

  


"It wasn't as though we planned it or anything--it just... happened. He walked me home one night, and all of a sudden he started talking about how he couldn't bear to be without me, and I said I felt the same way--and the next thing I knew, we were bargaining for a ring at this little stall in the marketplace..." She beamed, and her little face positively shone. "Oh, Jonathan, I'm happier than I've ever been! I've wanted to tell you--"

  


"What about the banns?" I demanded, cutting her off. It would be very like the flighty little featherbrain to rush off and get married, and conveniently overlook all the bits that made it legal and binding. O'Connell was a very bad influence on her in that respect.

  


She shook her head. "Rick's not a British subject. We had to get a common license."

  


"And?"

  


"And what?"

  


"Did you?"

  


She huffed impatiently. "I'm not a dolt, Jonathan! Don't worry, I made sure everything was done properly." At this point, she took up the fresh martini and tackled it with renewed celebratory determination. I waited for her to pass it over to me, but she seemed to be enjoying it a bit more than the first. "They do grow on you, don't they?" she chirped, holding up the glass. Good heavens, I'd created a monster.

  


"And when was the happy event?"

  


Here, she at least had the decency to look ashamed. "A week ago tonight."

  


"A week--you've been married for an entire _week_ and you couldn't be bothered to say anything to me?!"

  


"We didn't tell anyone... we both needed some time to get used to the idea first. It all happened rather quickly."

  


"You lied to me!"

  


A mischievous look came over her face. "I lied to everybody... what makes you so special?"

  


I fell into the trap before I'd realized why those words sounded so familiar. "I'm your only brother, you ungrateful little--!"

  


"That just makes you more gullible," she retorted gleefully.

  


Hmm. Touché.

  


She nudged me. I nudged her back, and she lost her balance and slid right off the chair, landing on the floor with a _thud! _Hmph. Not so very sophisticated after all, the little brat. I grinned, waved, and downed what was left of her martini. The bartender immediately replaced it with a fresh one. Evie glared up at me, and finally I reached down and hauled her to her feet.

  


"This guy givin' you trouble?" came an offensive drawl from behind me. A hearty pound on the shoulder sent me staggering forward, hanging onto the bar for support. "Hey, easy there, buddy." Strong hands lifted me up and installed me in my seat once more.

  


Bloody O'Connell.

  


"No one's given me any trouble. Not even a little bit." She said this with affected disappointment, plunking one elbow down on the bar and resting her chin on her hand. "Here I am, looking ravishingly gorgeous, and even my own silly brother hasn't asked me for a dance." She sipped from her new drink and tried to look dejected.

  


"Gee, I wonder why?" In full view now, my new brother-in-law looked practically respectable in a suit and tie. He'd even combed his hair, for once. Being married to my fastidious sister might be the best thing that ever happened to him. He put one arm around Evie's shoulders, shooting me a wink. He was in the most insufferable good humour, and I suspected it was at my expense. "Can't say I blame ya, Jonathan."

  


She elbowed him in the ribs. "I do wish you'd stop teasing me. I am not a bad dancer!" Then, appealing to me to back her up: "Am I?"

  


O'Connell looked smug, certain that I was going to take his side.

  


"Of course not, Evie. You're like a dream." Well, a nightmare, perhaps. "Sometimes I wonder whether your feet even touch the ground." Usually her feet are all over the other person's.

  


"How many of those have you had?" O'Connell demanded. I shrugged.

  


Evie flashed me a gratified smile. "Thank you." To her husband of one week, she added, pointedly, "See?"

  


He rolled his eyes, but didn't press the matter. "You two talk everything out?"

  


We both nodded.

  


"Good," he said, and I sensed that the matter between us was closed. I felt as though I ought to apologize for the accusations I'd made earlier, but couldn't figure out how to frame my words in a way that wouldn't have Evie demanding to know everything. The last thing I wanted was for her to find out what a blithering idiot I'd been. O'Connell had been awfully sporting about the whole thing, I realized. He hadn't even hit me once, even though he'd definitely been entitled. And he was a decent enough chap in most respects. Perhaps... perhaps marrying him wouldn't turn out to be the biggest mistake of my sister's life, after all.

  


Evie, blissfully unaware, made a pretty little moue of her mouth. "Look," she demanded petulantly, "isn't _anyone_ going to ask me for a dance?" Her ears had gone rather red, but I suspected it was more alcohol than chagrin.

  


O'Connell groaned. "Yeah, yeah. Might as well get it over with."

  


"Is that how you proposed, too?" I inquired.

  


"Very nearly," supplied my sister cheerfully.

  


O'Connell glared at each of us in turn. "You," he said, pointing at me, "shut up. You," here he indicated my sister, "let's go." He grabbed her arm, yanked her unceremoniously out of her seat.

  


"Looks as if I'm being spirited away!" she announced, and waved good-bye, her steps slightly unsteady as O'Connell towed her out onto the dance floor.

  


After a couple more drinks to fortify my nerves, I occupied myself in making the rounds of the room, inviting several young ladies to take a turn on the floor. The ones who were any good on their feet, I asked for a second dance, alternating at random, so that it didn't look like I was just going the rounds. Still, it all seemed a bit hollow, in the face of Evie's all-encompassing happiness.

  


Then it just so happened that I spied a shy one, turned out in an ugly dress that was all the wrong length and style for her figure. She was bent over, staring at the black caps of her shoes in exactly the same way that Evie used to when I took her out. All that was missing was a pair of tortoiseshell specs and a battered copy of Budge's _Egyptian Magic_. I made a special point of proffering an invitation to this girl--Beatrix, her name was--and I danced with her three times in a row before her father politely told me to bugger off back to where I'd come from. He assumed I was after either money or her precious virtue, no doubt, when in fact I was already liberally endowed with the one, and not particularly interested in acquiring the other. I returned to my station at the bar, and before long a waiter came over to have a discreet word with me. I was worried that I was about to be ejected, but no; and damned if timid little Beatrix hadn't sent me a drink at Daddy's expense! I toasted her from across the room, and she smiled winningly at me as her father escorted her out of the club by the elbow. She was actually quite pretty when she smiled. I hoped the young fellows were paying attention.

  


As the crowd on the dance floor started to thin, I fell to watching my sister and O'Connell. For all his complaining, he didn't seem to mind that she trod on his feet--and she did, often. He was obviously self-conscious: she guided him through the faster songs, showing him how to spin her properly. Evie adores being spun, and dipped, and any other maneuver that imitates the motion of a roller coaster, and she gives her partner absolutely no warning before she tries to do something. A strange one, that girl. Still, O'Connell managed to catch her every single time, for which I must give credit to his watchful eye and admirable reflexes.

  


During a run of slow numbers, he held her a little closer than was the custom, close enough for her to nestle her head against his shoulder. After a while, her eyes drifted closed, then his, and then both their steps slowed until it they were barely moving at all. I supposed allowances could be made for their behaviour, considering that the pair of them were practically on their honeymoon. At least they weren't kissing each other in the middle of the dance floor or anything quite so disgusting. As for Evie, she had such a confounded silly grin on her face that I couldn't help smiling myself. The big prat really did make her happy.

  


I was quietly drinking the health of the bride and groom when I felt a hand press my shoulder. I wasn't sure I felt up to making forced dance-floor conversation with yet another pretty, vapid blonde, and turned with an apology on my lips to find Evie standing there.

  


"You never asked me for a dance," she bleated.

  


"Oh, for heaven's sake, you silly girl." I slapped her hand away as she tried to drag me out of my chair. More kindly, I added, "It's been rather a long day, Evie. I'm tired, and just a little bit too drunk for my own good. The only place I'm going is home, to sleep, and possibly to put my head in the, er, thing." I couldn't quite remember the word. "The apparatus that one is sick in. Yes, I will definitely be spending a lot of time in the company of the, er, thing, in the foreseeable future."

  


She pursed her lips and blew a stray curl off her forehead. "One dance won't kill you, Jonathan."

  


"Oh, all right, all right, just leave off whining."

  


I walked out onto the floor with Evie trotting along after me. "I don't whine."

  


"You do," I insisted.

  


"I don't."

  


"You _do_."

  


"I _don't!_" she whined.

  


I sighed, made a face, and put my arm around her.

  


It was a slower number, a song I happened to know, and the band gave it a subtle swing I rather enjoyed. I wondered whether she'd chosen it on purpose, but she couldn't have; Evie and I didn't have any of the same tastes in music, and it was a given that if I liked the song, she'd never even heard of it. For the moment, I was simply thankful she wasn't asking me to spin her, or effect any other complicated maneuvers that might make me inclined to be sick all over her fancy outfit.

  


"Stop trying to lead," I groused as she pulled me this way and that. "Maybe O'Connell lets you get away with that trick, but _I'm_ not required by law to be nice to you."

  


She relaxed in my arms, with the comfort of long-standing familiarity. "You shall have to call him Rick, now," she informed me, trying not to smile.

  


"I suppose so. Hmph." Bloody Rick.

  


"I'm sorry you didn't get to dance at my wedding, Jonathan," she told me.

  


"Oh... it's all right, Evie." I grinned, to show her there were no hard feelings. It was no fun being disagreeable if she wasn't going to fight back, after all. "I'll be there at the next one, I'm sure."

  


She swatted me in the shoulder. "That's not funny!"

  


"No, I suppose not," I reflected. The feeling of sickness was passing, and I started to get into the rhythm of the music. We moved deftly across the floor without her getting anywhere near my poor defenseless instep.

  


In a small voice, she asked, "Are you very cross with me?"

  


"No... not very. I wish I could have been there, but that's all. I always thought I'd be the one to give you away." Well, actually, I'd always thought my shy sister would never get married in the first place. Part of me had just assumed that we'd grow old together in a house full of antique books, and about fifty cats, in spite of the fact that I hate the wretched little creatures. But she didn't need to know all that.

  


"Well, this way you don't have to give me away," she said brightly.

  


I feigned horror. "Do you mean I'm stuck with you? Good heavens. No, no, you're O'Connell's look-out now, he can deal with you. Disaster that you are."

  


"Do you know this song?" she asked, suddenly determined to be amiable in spite of my best efforts. "It sounds like the type of music you like."

  


I nodded. "I do, indeed."

  


"How does it go?"

  


"Oh, er, let me see--ah, yes. You'll forgive me, sis; I am not, as you may perhaps have noted, Ella Fitzgerald... 'I'll be loving you, always... With a love that's true, oh, always... When the things you've planned... need a helping hand... I will understand, always, always...'"

  


I lifted my arm over her head and gave her a little spin, then drew her back to me, as neatly as if we'd timed it. Over her shoulder, I caught a glimpse of O'Connell's face: mingled surprise and amusement. She hadn't stepped on my toes even once.

  


"'Days may not be fair, always... That's when I'll be there, oh, always...'" I dipped her, swiftly and suddenly, and she let out a squeal of delight. "'Not for just an ho-ur... not for just a da-ay... not for just a year, but always.'"

  


We leaned in close, foreheads touching. I made silly faces at her until she burst out laughing.

  


"Evie, you're my very favourite sister," I told her, as the song drew to a close.

  


She wrinkled her nose at me. "I am your only sister."

  


"A win by acclamation still stands," I pointed out.

  


Her face wobbled a bit, beginning to crumple, and I was afraid she was going to start blubbering. Evie's not the kind of girl who generally blubbers, but every once in a while, just when you least expect it, she really gets going, and there's no way of stopping it once she starts. I braced myself and wondered what I'd done with my clean handkerchief. "I love you, Jon," she said shakily.

  


"Then for God's sake, old mum, let me go home to bed!"

  


She laughed, hugged me tightly, kissed me on both cheeks, and then she was off, into the arms of her young soldier. _Who gives this woman?_ I thought, as she pelted across the dance floor. _I will, damn it all._

  


I watched her charge him at breakneck speed, practically flinging herself into his arms--but he remained steady and solid, proving more than a match for her. Which was, after all, the important thing.

  


They had met strangely, fallen in love violently, and been married on a whim. They were both wilful, proud, stubborn, and hot-headed; he'd seen far too much of the world, and she hadn't seen nearly enough. Anyone who knew the first thing about human nature would tell you that it was a marriage doomed to failure from the very start. But I had a feeling that Evie could make it work. And if there was one thing I had learned that day, it was the importance of not drawing conclusions based on something as trifling as circumstantial evidence.

  


END


End file.
